


Bird's Eye View

by Valeria2067



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengerlock, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, References to Suicide, Trigger Warnings: brief suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns to the hospital rooftop. This time, though, he gains a friend instead of losing one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird's Eye View

After Sherlock’s death, there were times when John just had to see it. See it with his own eyes.

See exactly what Sherlock had seen in those last few minutes.

Feel the twinge in the ankles and knees and gut that came with staring down several storeys and looking at a spot on the pavement that would be the last thing you ever touched.

 _Could_  be the last thing. Might  _still_  be. 

He’d come up to the rooftop at Bart’s again. Third time in as many weeks.

Slowly, John stepped up onto the ledge and kept his eyes fixed on the pavement below.

_Keep your eyes fixed on me._

Bastard.

He took a small, phantom step forward, letting his foot hover in the empty space for a moment.

“That’s a spectacularly bad idea, pal,” a calm, American voice spoke from behind his left shoulder.

“Jesus!” John pitched forward with a start, but a pair of taut, muscular arms grabbed him around the waist and chest and pulled him backward off of the raised ledge.

“You gonna be okay?” 

When John spun around, he saw a younger man, about the same height, dressed in black, tight-fitting, paramilitary-style gear.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” John barked. He looked around to see if there were others as well. “Did Mycroft send you?” The adrenaline was still pumping, hard, and John wasn’t in the mood to calm down.

So he gave the man a rough shove. “I said who are you? You one of my keepers, now? You doing his legwork, so he doesn’t have to feel guilty if I top myself, too?”

“Hey, hey, take it easy!” the young man put his hands up in an attempt to show he meant no harm. “I’m not up here for you; I was just having a look around, and I thought you needed help.”  

John clenched and unclenched his fists, looked the man up and down for a moment, turned away, and started walking. “I don’t need any help from…. from whatever it is you are.”

“Fine by me. So. You’ve got some reason you want to paint that sidewalk with the inside of your head?”

Without thinking, without even breaking his stride, John spun back around aimed his fist at the man’s solar plexus. A strong hand deflected the blow, grasped John below the elbow and jerked back and up, as another arm wrapped around John’s neck and forced him downward. 

Someone without the advantage of John’s military training would have been on his knees in the next two seconds, but John was able to break the hold and land a punch after all. He even managed to get one of his elbows under his opponent’s chin before he was out-maneuvered and found himself face-down, both arms pinned behind his back.

“Stand DOWN, soldier,” the American growled.  ”You need to stand down. Now. You’re not gonna win this round.”

John made one last pointless attempt to shake himself free, then he relaxed his muscles, nodded and let out a ragged breath. 

God dammit. Damn all of this.

He took the offered hand and pulled himself back up. “I’m sorry. This isn’t what I normally…,” John ran a hand over his eyes and took another deep breath. “The comment you made about the pavement, it…” He cleared his throat. “My friend, my best friend, committed suicide here a few months back.”

Both men just looked at each other for a moment, not sure what to say. John looked back across the ledge, and he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” John raised his eyebrows and smiled weakly. “He sort of was a shit, now you mention.”

A hint of a smile showed on the other man’s lips, but there was concern in his eyes. “You looking to join him?”

“No. No, I was… just looking. Sometimes I come back up here to see if I can make any sense of it. But, you can see that didn’t work out. Thanks, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it. You should probably head back down. Or do you need some more time up here?”

The breeze picked up a bit, cool against the damp hair at John’s temples and the back of his neck. Windy again, just like it had been on that day. Clouds were forming, too.

“No, I’m done here. For now, anyway.”

John heard a very faint sound, and he saw the familiar head-tilt of someone listening to instructions through an earpiece. He shuddered at a particularly frightening memory, then quickly put it out of his head.

“Understood. Barton out.” The man focused his attention on John again. “Hey. You know any place to get a good scotch around here? I think my shift just ended.”

“There’s a place about two blocks away. But, listen. First one’s on me, Mr. Barton.”

Barton picked up a slim, black weapon case of some sort. “No argument there. And you can call me Clint.”

“I’m John. That your rifle in there Clint?”

Clint clapped a hand on John’s shoulder. “Nah. I’m just happy to see you, John.”

***

_end of part one_


End file.
